


the vast and glorious power of christmas lights

by Teaotter



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Christmas, Multi, Polyamory, Portland Oregon, Post-Series, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year Xander moved to Portland, Willow had shown up on his doorstep two days before New Year’s with cupcakes and an overnight bag. She'd stayed a week and a half before taking off again, promising to be back the next year. It kinda became a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the vast and glorious power of christmas lights

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally started as a gift in the I Saw Three Ships holiday fanfic exchange in 2005. It's... late.
> 
> Many thanks to Trinaest and RiverOtter1951, my fabulous First and Beta Readers! And thanks also to the entire FicFinishing community on Livejournal -- without you, I would never have finished this story. Thank you all!

Xander looks out over the meandering crowds and smiles to himself. It's another one of the hundred-gazillion reasons he loves living in Portland: People here take Christmas seriously. There are horse-drawn carriages clip-clopping slowly among the cars as they parade up and down the street. Dozens of people wander past each other on the sidewalks, talking: families with children, lovers holding hands, and random strangers just here for the moment. And why?

Because the people who live on Peacock Lane all get together each year and put up enough Christmas lights to power a small city.

“Oh, look! They've got a Grinch!” Emily looks over at Xander eagerly, then catches herself and hunches back into her coat. But her eyes are still gleaming under her dyed-black hair.

Apparently, Christmas lights even have the power to brighten the hearts of would-be goth Slayers.

Xander is still not sure how he got to this point. He never would've pegged himself for Watcher material. Giles was so not what he wanted to be, in high school. But then there were suddenly thousands of Slayers and a need for thousands of Watchers, or people like them, at a time when the Watcher's Council wasn't prepared to provide. Buffy took on as many as she could, but there were still too many girls, in too many cities, with no idea what had happened to them.

So he and Willow had both been dragged into duty. Temporarily, of course. But Xander discovered he liked the work. No, he wasn't as brilliant as Willow at the magic stuff, or as good as Giles at the research. But he was steady, and stubborn, and knew his way around an apocalypse, all of which made him more than qualified for the position. Certainly, he was good enough for a half-rate town like Portland, at least. And Emily was becoming a fair hand with the research herself.

Xander watches her walk a few steps ahead, still in that characteristic hunch. He'd told her they were here to patrol, though he doesn't think he fooled her a bit. There really aren't that many vamps in Portland, but there are a lot of people walking away from here to their cars parked on dark streets. It's possible that vamps might be lurking around, ready to jump somebody.

Of course, it's also possible they'd all caught the holiday spirit. Never discount the vast and glorious power of Christmas lights.

Emily waits for him at the next house. Every year, the family in this little gingerbread Victorian puts up a giant plastic menorah right next to Santa's reindeer. Emily is eyeing it. “Think she'll come early this year?”

Xander snorts. “Only if someone finds a Mesopotamian god under the tree on Christmas morning.”

Emily shrugs. “It could happen.”

Xander stares at the lights for a minute. The year he moved to Portland, Willow had shown up on his doorstep two days before New Year’s with cupcakes and an overnight bag. She'd stayed a week and a half before taking off again, promising to be back the next year. It kinda became a thing. Xander gets the spare room ready for her every year now.

Xander isn't exactly sure how Willow had ended up with her life, either. Oh, she still likes magic and ancient languages. She just does it professionally now, as an archaeologist. She'd apparently gotten the travel bug and never looked back. She never mentioned Buffy, not after Buffy split from the Watcher’s Council again. Of course, he didn't bring it up, either.

Willow liked to tease him that they'd traded places. He had his nose in the books, and she was digging in the dirt. It made her smile, the laugh lines crinkling up around her eyes in just the same way they ever had. Willow is still one of the most beautiful women he's ever met, and still his best friend. Even if she only comes by once a year.

Xander starts to move down the sidewalk and practically bumps into a shorter man in a silver parka, hood pulled up over his head.

“Xander?”

The voice is vaguely familiar, but he doesn't have a chance to place it before he's pulled into a tight hug. Thankfully, it's a hug without dangerous weapons, because it would be humiliating to be knifed on the sidewalk by a random stranger at Christmas. He has no idea who the guy is, and guesses it shows. The guy lets go, steps back, and grins up at him.

“Hey, buddy, I'm all for Christmas spirit, but --” Something about the grin, like the voice, is familiar. Xander gets it just before the hands come up to pull the hood down. “Oz!”

He grabs Oz in a bear hug of his own and swings him around. A couple of little kids dodge out of the way, but no one yells. Emily is hanging nearby, her hand hovering near one of the pockets he knows she's got a stake in. Good girl. Wrong monster, but still.

Xander sets Oz back on his feet. “Oz, this is Emily. Emily, Oz. He's an old friend of mine.”

“Whatever.” Emily scowls at them impatiently, rubbing her hands across her sleek leather jacket.

Xander knows her well enough to know it's her version of exuberance, but he's not sure how Oz'll take it. So he cuts in. “What brings you to Portland?”

“The weather.” Oz nods up at the low, gray clouds. “I'm supposed to be headed east, but snow blocked the highway. I'm stuck in town for a few days.”

Xander slings an arm around his shoulder, the slick material of his coat sliding over the other man's parka. “No, my friend. It's not the weather. It's fate. Karma. You see, this is the best time to come to Portland. Okay, it's pretty all year round. But we go to a little more effort this time of year.”

“And here I thought this was all for me,” Oz jokes.

They come to the end of the lane of Christmas lights, and Xander sends Emily off to patrol on her own. He checks to make sure she has her bus pass. Along with her cell phone, emergency pager, and a couple of magic charms. It looks like a slow night, but hey, you can't be too careful. She puts up with his fussing for a few minutes, then stalks off without saying goodbye, the way she usually does. Xander isn't sure at this point if it's a phase or a lifestyle choice; he's pretty sure Emily doesn't know either.

So he waves at the back of her head and takes Oz down to the local pub. It's a full English-style pub, complete with dart boards and Guinness on tap. He found it the first year Giles came to town; or rather, Giles showed it to him. It's a good place to catch up over beer.

He tells Oz about Emily, and being a Watcher, and all the best things about living in Portland. Oz tells him about catching Christmas carols at the Grotto, and seeing the tree in Pioneer Square. Apparently, Oz has been touring the holiday sights in Portland for a couple of days, and sleeping in his van.

They're three beers in before Xander realizes that he's doing most of the talking. Oz doesn't seem to want to talk about himself much, which would be fine, but finally Xander has to ask him a few questions.

He starts with the basics. “So. You’re still a werewolf?”

“Yeah.”

Xander counts in his head the days leading up to the next full moon. There aren't many. “You got that taken care of?”

Oz shrugs. “More or less.”

“If you need a cage in a couple of days, I can ask around for you.”

“Nah.” Oz takes a sip of his beer. “I'm good, thanks.”

Xander sighs and pushes his own beer aside. “Okay, this is where I put on my Watcher hat and pester the hell out of you, because I can't leave it at 'more or less' if I'm gonna have to send my Slayer out to tranq your sorry ass. Or notify the local pack and let them do it for me. But they might just kill you, so keep talking.”

Oz’s eyes flare. Literally. They glow with blue fire for just a minute, blue as the painted streak in his hair and clear as day in the dim light of the pub. Xander doesn't reach for his weapons, but he thinks about them, and how to get them. He knows the years have changed him; now he just has to hope they haven't changed Oz too much.

“I'm still a werewolf,” Oz finally says, eyes shifting back to shadow. “I haven't found a way to change that.”

Xander grimaces sympathetically, still a little on edge. “I’m sorry, man. I know that’s what you were looking for.”

Oz looks away. “I didn't find it.”

When that's all he says, Xander starts to get angry. The frustration is remarkably familiar, though, and gradually he realizes that it reminds him way too much of dealing with Emily. Sometimes she won't answer questions, either, and he has to let her say it her own way. He knows from experience that it’s no good to yell at her. So he takes a deep breath, knowing Oz is watching. He does it again, anyway. When he's sure he's calm, he lays his hands palm-down on the table and says, “So tell me why you don't need a cage.”

Oz looks back at him for a long moment, quiet again. There is something in his eyes, even his non-glowing, otherwise normal eyes that sends a shiver down Xander's spine. He doesn't think it's his spidey-sense tingling, but that's all he knows. It's enough to keep him quiet until Oz starts talking.

“A werewolf isn't a wolf. Not a true one. But it doesn't have to be a monster. It doesn't have to kill.” Oz holds Xander’s gaze. “ _I_ don't have to kill.”

Xander wants to say something clever, make a joke, say anything to break the tension. He's just not sure what would do it. “So you change, but you don't kill anyone?” he asks slowly. “You can control yourself?”

“Yes.”

In everything he’s read as a Watcher, Xander has never heard of a werewolf who didn’t kill. Occasionally, they get hexed into obeying someone’s orders, but they never just get themselves under control. But with Oz looking at him like that, he can't believe it's a lie. He doesn't really want to, either, if he's honest. He doesn't want to think that Oz would lie to him at all. “Guess it saves money at Chains-R-Us.”

The joke slips out before Xander can pull it back, but Oz just smiles a little. He holds Xander's gaze for another long moment before looking away, and Xander finally lets out the breath he's been holding. They order another round of beers, and Xander decides not to think about whatever it is that almost happened there. Oz starts to talk a little about his travels, and Xander lets himself relax. Oz is remarkably easy to listen to, dry and funny and good with the details. Listening to him talk -- It’s nice.

When the time comes to leave the bar, Xander doesn't want to say goodbye again. Not if it's going to be years before they see each other again. “If you're in town for a few days, I've got a room.” It's Willow's room, at least in his head, but he's not going to say that. “You could stay with me.”

Oz gives half a nod. “Cool.”

Xander lives in a tiny old Victorian house on the corner of the St. Joseph property, with a community garden on one side and a park across the street. After the first couple of times demons attacked his apartment, he figured out that having other people too close was really bad for them. This house was donated to the Watcher's Council years ago by the Catholic Church, and pretty much forgotten about. So he can live there rent-free, do his own repairs, and hope to keep a roof over his head on the pittance the Council can send him.

He painted the outside of the house bright pink last summer over Emily's intense disapproval. Xander occasionally threatens to get lawn flamingos, just to see her face. The house is almost small enough to get away with something that cute.

But there are three real bedrooms, if you are willing to count them like that. He uses the one at the front as a library, and the other spare as the guest room. The house is so old and tiny that it doesn't have a hallway, and the back bedrooms are only accessible through extra doors in the bathroom. It's a weird set-up, but livable for the few weeks he ever has visitors, and again with the whole free rent thing. But it makes it look like there is only the one bedroom when you walk in the front door.

Xander can see that Oz is all set to take the couch, and for a moment, he is tempted to go with it. He made up the guest room for Willow; all the soft colors she liked, and thin curtains to let in the sun, and lots of blankets for when she got cold in the middle of the night. He always gets it ready ahead of time, sometimes weeks ahead of time. He likes to open the door and poke his head in, like looking down at wrapped presents sitting under the tree. It is a promise of something good coming.

But he can't see letting his friend sleep on the couch when there is a perfectly good bed available. So he leads Oz through the bathroom, shows him the extra doors that look like closet doors but lead to the back rooms. Oz surveys the guest room quietly, and takes the towels that Xander gives him without a word. Xander tries not to think about him curled up in the guest bed, between the sheets Xander bought for Willow.

It makes him remember those days in high school when they were all part of the Scooby Gang together. Only maybe he doesn't remember so well, because he knows he screwed it up for them, and he ought to feel bad about that. But having Oz here, now, it feels like a good thing, like maybe none of the bad things happened at all. And Xander knows it's an illusion to feel like that, so he blames it on the beer and takes himself to bed. When he's falling asleep, he thinks he hears voices in the other room, Willow's and Oz's voices talking softly, and it's the most peaceful thing he can imagine. He sleeps better than he has in years.

Four days later, Xander realizes that Oz is still with him. The other man hasn't made any remarks about leaving, and Xander hasn't asked, either. It's nice to have someone else in the house, he tells himself, when he finds Oz’s mug by the sink again. It’s the one with the smiling green frog on a lily pad that Xander found in the drain rack the first day Oz was there and every morning thereafter. Xander thinks maybe Oz brought it with him, or maybe he found it somewhere in the back of the cupboard while Xander was sleeping.

Mornings have a routine, now. Oz gets up first and cooks breakfast, leaving biscuits and bacon on the tiny kitchen table if Xander doesn't make it out of bed before Oz goes out. Oz gets restless in the mornings, but he comes back before noon with oranges, groceries, muffins from the local bakery. Once, he brings back a bookshelf he found sitting out by someone's garbage, and they add it to the library.

Emily is thrilled. In her own way, of course. She slouches over every afternoon for practice, wearing the silk scarf that only comes out for special occasions. The first day, she works with Xander while Oz watches. Then Oz starts showing her things he picked up on the road. He shows her a form of tai chi that Xander's never seen, and to Xander's surprise she actually practices it on her own, and not just when he nags her. A few refinements on the martial arts stances make her punches practically rip through the padded armor Xander wears. Emily exclaims very loudly that she is not impressed, which means she totally is, and it makes Oz smile.

Oz even comes on patrol with them. The first night he comes as himself, borrowing a machete and a couple of stakes. He and Emily diss some of the popular music that Xander doesn't bother to keep up with any more; he's beginning to understand Giles's comments about the young people and their music. They show Oz the giant Pioneer Cemetery just a few blocks from Xander's house, and actually see a vampire. Xander has to explain, again, that there really aren't that many in Portland.

The next two nights, Oz comes along as a werewolf. He scares the bejeezus out of Xander, even though they all know that the full moon is coming and he’ll be out as a wolf. Emily almost tranqs him anyway, because a two-hundred pound wolf-beast jogging out of the dark is still just that unnerving, even if part of its fur is dyed peacock blue. But despite the hellhound looks, it's still Oz looking out its eyes. They stare at each other on the sidewalk, Slayer and wolf, both strung tense as a bowstring. Then Emily shrugs and drops the muzzle of the tranq gun, Oz flicks an ear at her, and they fall into step without a word.

It turns out that werewolves are damned useful for taking down vampires, and the three of them clear out the nest on 82nd Avenue that had spawned the vamp they ran into the night before, so Xander can't really complain. Oz has to go home before dawn to make sure he can sleep it off, but it works.

It's kinda like building a family, only Xander doesn't want to think about it that way. Every time he's ever had a family, they take off, or get drunk and beat each other up. He doesn't see the second one as a real threat here, but the first? He knows that Emily is growing up, and that Oz doesn't plan to stay. It's just the weather, still holding icy and snowbound on the highways headed east.

Besides, Willow will be coming soon. Xander has no way to tell her that Oz is here; he never has a working phone number for her. She’ll call him sometimes from a dig or an airport, but he never tries to track her down. This year, he thinks she said she’d be in Africa, but he can’t remember which country and he sounds like a total jackass whenever he guesses.

He doesn't know if it would bother her to know that Oz is here. They don’t talk about the Sunnydale days very much any more, and Oz’s name hasn’t come up.

And Xander doesn't want to tell Oz, in case he decides to leave. In the end, he doesn’t say anything.

Xander is cooking spaghetti for dinner when he hears a knock at the door. He has pots boiling on the stove, so he doesn't think anything of letting Oz catch the door, until he realizes he can’t hear Emily’s pounding boots in the hall. Xander has a sinking feeling as he puts down the sauce spoon and peers around the kitchen door.

Willow is standing on the front porch, lime green suitcase leaning against her shin, red hair shining in the porch light. Oz is frozen beside the front door, his hand still on the knob. Xander knows from the look on Will's face that she had no idea Oz was here. It’s also perfectly clear that she still has feelings for him. The pain he’s seeing is love, or something enough like it to make Xander’s heart seize up. He is sure that, at any moment, they’ll fly into each other’s arms like lovers meeting up in a train station in some old movie.

At least, it looks that way until Oz pushes past her and runs out into the night, leaving the screen door to slam behind him.

“Oh,” Xander says uncomfortably. Willow turns back to him with that little frown between her brows that always makes him want to fix the world for her. “Hey, Will? Oz's been staying here.”

“Umm.” Willow puts an uncertain hand on the screen door. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“Nah. You know Oz; he just likes to greet people that way.” It is another patented lame Xander Harris joke, but it gets him a smile anyway.

Xander bustles her inside in time to keep the spaghetti from boiling over, which is a good thing, since it's not his best dinner anyway. “Have you eaten?”

“No.” Willow is standing next to the couch like it's the only island in an angry sea. “Xander --”

“Then come have pasta. I made plenty,” he reassures her, reaching for the plates.

“Xander, Oz --”

“-- will come back for his stuff, or not. And neither one is your fault,” Xander finishes softly. He puts the loaded plates down on the table and comes over to her as she waits by the couch. He hugs her until she softens a little, then leans back to kiss her forehead gently. Then he puts on his best goofy grin. “It's not the end of the world.”

“No, that was last week.” Willow smiles weakly as she finishes the joke.

It's an oldie, something they’ve been saying for years, and it patches things over enough to let them sit down for dinner. Willow talks about her dig in Ethiopia for a while, then Xander talks about the food carts springing up around town. Neither of them mentions Oz.

It feels a bit like any other year, their knees bumping occasionally under the too-small table as they laugh. At the same time, Xander feels the awkwardness, and the yawning uncertainty that comes with it. The silences between topics seem to stretch on for miles as they wait for Oz’s footsteps on the porch.

Xander gives up eventually and gives her his room. He makes the bed with clean sheets, throws the dirty laundry in the hamper, and drags some of his clothes into the hall closet for the morning. He calls off the evening patrol with Emily, thankful to get her voice mail, because she’d never miss out on Willow’s first night in town if she knew. Xander sets up a cot in the library, cranks the heat all the way up on the baseboard heater, and stares out the foggy windows at the park until he falls asleep.

He wakes in the middle of the night to a noise he can’t place. His hand is on the knife under the pillow before his eyes are even open. He blinks in the low light from the streetlamps outside and gradually makes out Oz's silhouette in the dark. Xander lets the knife go, hand curling softly over the edge of the cot.

“I'm sorry,” Oz says quietly. “For running off like that.”

Xander has had too many years of midnight awakenings to be completely sleep-muddled, but once he knows there's no immediate danger, his brain sinks right back down. So his only real response is a muffled sound almost totally unlike any word in English.

“I knew it was her room,” Oz goes on. “I just didn't realize you were waiting for her.”

“It's okay, man.” Xander is vaguely surprised the words come out at all. Apparently his drive to smooth things over runs just as well in his sleep. “You were surprised, that's all. She understands.”

Oz tilts his head, his eyes gleaming briefly. “Does she?”

Then Oz kisses him.

It's a brief moment of heat that Xander's mind doesn't catch up with until Oz has already stopped. He doesn't manage to come up with a response in time to keep Oz beside the cot, or in the room at all. Xander lies there in the suddenly strangling blankets and listens to the sounds of the house for a minute. He thinks he ought to get up. Surely he ought to say something, but damned if he has a clue what it should be.

He remembers years ago, the first time he'd gotten his courage together to kiss Giles. It was too rushed to be a good kiss; it was more a statement Xander had blurted out than anything else. Giles had tried to explain in a stilting British way, cleaning his glasses the whole time, that things were too complicated. It didn't actually occur to Xander until much later that Giles might have meant just that -- not discomfort at the idea, not that it could never happen, not any of the things Xander had read into it. Not even a refusal. Just a complete puzzlement as to how anyone could possibly think it was simple to be in love with someone else.

Xander thinks maybe he gets it now. He can hear Oz and Willow's voices softly from the back of the house and it feels like everything is actually right in the universe for once. Even with Oz's kiss still tingling on his lips, Xander wouldn't interrupt them for the world.

Not that the world doesn't do a perfectly good job of that itself, what with the whole time passing thing. Morning finds him waking up to the two of them laughing in the kitchen. The smell of coffee brings him stumbling out of the library like a zombie toward brains.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.” Willow smiles at him over her shoulder, then turns back to the stove. She is wearing a brightly striped sweater and gray suede boots against the chill of the morning. She has the cast iron skillet out, the one Oz had been making biscuits in all week. But it’s full of green-brown beans, charring slowly as she rocks them over the flames.

“Coffee?” Xander asks hopefully. The curtains are pulled back to let in the thin grey light of a rainy winter day, but the kitchen feels bright and bustling and a little overly crowded, even with Oz perched on the chair behind the table, bare feet pulled up under him like a cat.

“Not yet.” Oz shakes his head, but he hands Xander the bluebird mug full of something black and steaming.

Xander takes a swallow before his brain catches up with the messages from his nose that a) this is not coffee, and b) it smells like potpourri. Potpourri with enough sugar to kick-start an entire elementary school. When he’s done spluttering, they are both watching him with identical looks of indulgent amusement.

“What? Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting that,” Xander mutters, flushing. “You know I’m not good in the mornings.”

“It’s okay,” Willow says graciously. “I did exactly the same thing the first time someone gave me shahi.”

Xander would bet half the house she did nothing of the sort. Willow hates to be rude. But he just says, “See?” to Oz, who nods like he never even thought of laughing. Between the two of them, Xander is so doomed. Not that he minds. “Isn’t this supposed to have a ton of milk in it?”

“That’s only if it’s from India,” Oz tells him gravely.

“Oh.” Xander looks down at the mug. “Can we pretend it’s from India? At least until the coffee’s ready?”

“The coffee won’t be ready for an hour,” Willow announces cheerfully. “So you’ve got time to shower. And shave.”

“Hey! Oz never complains about my manly morning stubble!”

Oz shakes his head and takes Xander’s mug, replacing it with his own, which is full of milky goodness. “Nope. It suits you.”

Xander’s fingers have closed over Oz’s on the mug, and Oz is giving him this little half-grin that doesn’t quite fit with the typical morning banter they’ve been having. Suddenly, Xander is awake enough to remember that last night’s contentment wasn’t just another one of his fantasies, that there really is something to be awkward about.

Oh no. Any moment now, he’s going to say something stupid. He’s already regretting it, even as he starts to take a breath.

Then Oz stands up and kisses him, just a quick brush, casual, like they do this every day. In the same movement, Oz slides past him toward the front door. “I’ll be back in an hour, then,” he says, and he’s gone. There’s the brief thumping of Oz putting on his boots in the hall, and then the rattling of the screen door closing.

Xander remembers that he’s still holding Oz’s mug, the green frog smiling happily up at him. He sets it down on the table before he can forget it again. The sound of gently hissing beans is infinitely louder than the total lack of coherent thought in his head.

Oz had just kissed him. Again.

Willow's eyebrows are up when he finally looks over at her. “Did you forget to tell me something last night?”

“No.” Xander has one hand pressed to his mouth. He isn’t sure how it got there. “At least, not that I know of.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Wouldn't you know?”

“This is me you're talking to. I’m always the last to know.” Xander drops his hand to join the other, wrapped around the chair back. The red vinyl is cracked right there, something he never noticed before. For a minute, he thinks he won’t ask. “Aren't you?”

Willow looks up from the skillet again, puzzled. “Aren't I what?”

Xander manages not to look away. “Involved. With Oz.”

She ducks her head, her hair sweeping in front of her face. “What makes you say that?”

Xander’s heart seizes a little. “I heard you two talking last night.”

“We talked, that’s all.” Willow shrugs. “It’s not like I knew he was here.”

She has her shoulders hunched over the skillet now, her back fully to him, and it hurts to be shut out like this again. Xander remembers the last time she stood like that. They were packing up her apartment in Ann Arbor after she got her doctorate. She still had the hood from the graduation ceremony draped around her neck as she stared out the window.

Kennedy’s stuff was already gone, long gone by the marks on the carpet, and Xander hadn’t known what to say. Willow just said she didn’t want to talk about it, so he stopped asking.

Sometimes, when she visits, the past sits here between them like an unwelcome guest. But Xander has been living with those his whole life. At least no one is hitting anyone else over this one, so it usually doesn’t bother him. Especially since keeping quiet means keeping Willow, even if it’s only one week a year.

But today, he doesn’t want to dance around it any more. “Do you still love him?”

Willow freezes, and Xander has to hold his breath to keep from jumping in to apologize, fill up the space with words until the danger passes.

But slowly her hand relaxes on the handle of the skillet, and she lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I think the better question is, do you?”

And Xander can’t keep still. He’s got a hand on her shoulder before he can think about it, the weave of her sweater soft against his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Willow rests her cheek against his hand for a moment. “No, seriously, I mean it. We were over years ago. Things just got confusing last night, is all, what with the middle of the night and everything. It was -- nostalgia. Or something like that.”

Xander sighs. He knows exactly what she means. “Like everything was right with the world.”

“Yeah.” Willow smiles up at him, but there are still tears shining in her eyes. “Like that.”

Xander leans closer --

The front door slams, and heavy boots thump on the old floorboards. They jump apart, startled, as Emily’s voice floats in from the living room. “Is that coffee?”

Xander feels a rush of gratitude for the interruption, on the heels of something a lot more confusing. He hadn’t wanted to kiss Willow that badly in years now, and it could have happened. Right then. The fact that it’s the worst possible time for him to do it… is just a fact.

He takes the opportunity to slip away for a bit and try to think through everything that has happened since last night. It’s the first time he’s been thankful for the house’s terrible water pressure since the pipes froze the second winter he lived here. It gives him an excuse to be in the shower for a while.

When he thinks about how he feels, it's all a muddle. He doesn't know why Oz kissed him, or whether he should do anything about it. Really, he isn't sure about anything about Oz, except that Oz makes the house feel full just being there. And that Oz will be leaving soon, but thinking about him leaving just makes Xander more confused.

And then there's Willow. It’s not so much that he never got over her. He and Willow barely had anything to get over, romantically, and the friendship was always more important, anyway. But he’s always loved her. Over the years… maybe it grew. Maybe it’s the same as it ever was and he was just too afraid to realize it, Xander doesn’t know. But he knows that if she’d ever even hinted, he’d have gone with her without a backwards glance. It would’ve meant giving up Emily, but he doesn't think that would have stopped him.

His feelings are all tangled up, but he knows that he wants her to be happy. More than anything else in the world, he wants her to be happy.

That gives him something clear to work with. Fact: He wants Willow to be happy. Fact: She still has feelings for Oz. That's clear as day, and Xander thinks Oz still has feelings for her, which makes all the facts line up in a pretty row. He should get out of the way and let them work out their feelings for each other. Maybe it’s love and maybe it’s not, but he owes them the chance to find out.

It's an obvious answer, and the right thing to do. It shouldn't hurt as much as it does, but that’s life.

By the time Xander is out of the shower, Oz is back with stacks of brown-paper take-out boxes from Pine State Biscuits, all of which smell divine. Willow has enlisted Emily’s help crushing the coffee beans with a rolling pin – she wanted a mortar and pestle, but the only one in the house is strictly for spell components and is never allowed anywhere near food.

So it is well after breakfast before Xander finds Oz alone. The community garden is pretty barren this time of year, but they have a picnic table and a low fence that is ridiculously easy to get over. Oz is staring at the crows digging near the tool shed. Or possibly just meditating, in which case Xander is interrupting rudely, but he goes over anyway. When he does, Oz scoots over to give him room on the bench.

“Hey.” That’s as far as Xander gets before he realizes that he doesn’t have any words to follow after it.

Oz looks at him, but doesn’t say anything. If it were some other, non-kissing day, Xander would let it go. It’s barely raining, the kind of intermittent mist that native Portlanders ignore with pride and Xander kind of likes. It makes the garden smell lush and earthy, even in the middle of winter. They could sit here together and forget about the city for a while.

“I want things to be good,” is what falls out of Xander’s mouth when he finally breaks the silence. “I mean, with you and Willow. I don’t…”

Oz nods thoughtfully, like what Xander just said makes any kind of intelligent sense. “You love her.”

“She’s my best friend. Of course I love her.”

“It’s more than that.” Oz is tracing a diagonal line on his jeans, like the cloth holds the answers. Or maybe like he knows Xander might bolt at any moment.

Still, Xander has to bite back the automatic denial. He isn't really fooling anyone here, is he? “Maybe. Maybe it is. Maybe it always has been. I don’t know. But it’s never going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“It just isn't.” Xander has to get up, pace around a little. The ground around the picnic table is covered in about a hundred year's worth of straw stamped into the mud, so having him stomp around on it won't hurt anything. “That's what I wanted to say. Just that -- I don't want to stand in your way. I'm not. I'm not standing in your way there.”

“Oh.” When Xander finally looks up at him, Oz's face is hard to read. “Did you hit your head in the shower?”

“That's -- kind of out of left field, there.”

“But did you?”

“No.”

“All right.” Oz holds Xander's eyes with his, level and way more intense than Xander was hoping for, and it occurs to him that Oz is _angry_. “Then maybe you could explain how me kissing you suddenly means I don’t want you? Because I always thought that was kind of the point with kissing.”

Xander doesn't know what to say. He's not sure where this conversation took a turn. “Oz --”

“If you're not interested in me, you can say so. You won't be the first. I'll get over it. But that wasn't what you said. Was it?”

Oz has his hands in his pockets, and he's standing there fierce and angry because he thinks Xander doesn't care. It's marvelous, it's amazing, and for the second time that day, Xander really wants to kiss someone. It just isn't the same someone, and that is horribly confusing. “I...”

Oz watches him fumble for words, face slowly shutting down. The anger goes away first, but so does something else, something brighter and more hopeful, and he nods once before turning away. Xander can't stand it.

“Wait!” He grabs Oz's arm, fingers sliding over the damp material of his coat. “Don't. I mean --”

Oz looks back at him, face pulled into an expression that could maybe fool someone into thinking he's only mildly curious --

And Xander kisses him. It's not his best kiss; Oz freezes for a second, and his face is cold when Xander doesn't quite manage to find his lips on the first try. But his mouth is warm a moment later, and Oz softens just a little before he pulls back. They’re both breathing hard, making lazy clouds of steam between them.

“So.” Xander still has his hand wrapped around Oz's upper arm. Though he's more petting the other man's shoulder at this point than anything else.

“So.” Oz tilts his head a little, eyes wide and warm. “Does that mean you don’t like me, or that you do? Because I think it's important to clarify the point. Before we go any further.”

Xander doesn’t know what he thinks about anything else, but the kissing is good. “I like you.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that.” Oz grins up at him, sidling closer. Xander doesn’t realize how much he hates the inches between them until it seems to take Oz forever to cross the distance. “Maybe we should try it again. Help you make up your mind.”

Xander doesn’t bother to answer the question, just tilts his mouth down to find Oz’s. This kiss is definitely better. Still slow, but not nearly so tentative. Warm. No, it’s hot, really hot, but lazy day at the beach hot, like they’ve actually got time to do this right. Xander knows his brain is still catching up with the rest of him, but right now he doesn’t care.

Oz pulls back a little. By the time Xander opens his eyes, he’s smiling. “Better?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out before he realizes he’s not sure what Oz is asking. But he likes it. “I mean -- no, never mind. I definitely mean yes.”

“Good.” Oz reaches up to cup Xander’s cheek. His hand is chilly and damp from the rain. The rain which is still falling on both of them, because they’re outside in the garden. Right.

“I think.” Xander shifts back, putting a few very important inches between them to help his brain. Not that his brain likes this very much. “I think maybe this is very confusing.”

Oz drops his hand, and Xander sighs, because he didn’t really want that to happen. “What’s confusing about it?”

“Oh, maybe that you re-appear in my life after six years and I don't know anything about you.” Xander grabs Oz’s hand before he can move away. In case he was thinking about moving away. “I like having you here, and I like you. Don’t get me wrong. But you and Willow –”

“Are nothing you have to worry about.” Oz squeezes Xander’s hand. “I promise. I won’t get between the two of you, either.”

“There’s nothing to get between,” Xander says automatically, before his brain starts churning up images of Willow avoiding him because she’s avoiding Oz and another broken heart. Surely she wouldn’t -- “Damn it. I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, I have no fucking clue --”

“--How things will work out.” Oz turns their joined hands over once, half a smile on his face. “I don’t know, either.”

It surprises a laugh out of Xander. “Way to be reassuring.”

“You're welcome.” Oz takes Xander’s other hand. “I'm ready to settle down. I've known how to control the wolf for a year now, but I was still looking for something. Someplace that felt like home.”

Xander looks away. “Yeah. Sunnydale isn't really available any more. Not that Portland's a lot like Sunnydale.”

“I dunno. Lots of Starbucks.”

“You don't even like Starbucks,” Xander points out.

Oz nods, face serious. “And you say you don't know anything about me.”

“Oz.”

“You feel like home.”

“That's... scary.” It’s Xander’s turn to look down.

Oz squeezes his hand again. “It doesn't have to be.”

Xander nods back, but he doesn’t know what to say next. ‘No’ would probably be the smart thing, the safe thing. But he can’t make himself say it.

“Okay.” Oz lets go of his hand and sits back down on the picnic table. He’s moving slowly again, like he doesn’t want to scare Xander any more than he already has. “So tell me why you never told Willow how you feel about her.”

Xander blinks at him for a moment. “That’s… you really know how to change a subject, don’t you?”

Oz pats the table next to him, and Xander sits down warily. “Just go with it.”

“I really don’t think I have to _tell_ her, Oz,” Xander says. “I'm not exactly Captain Subtlety over here.”

“But you think she's not interested.”

“She's Willow.”

“What does that mean?”

“She's got this whole life going, you know. All the travelling, and the new people all the time. Taking secret things and showing them to the world.” Xander tilts his face up to the sky and closes his eyes against the rain. The droplets aren’t even cold against his skin anymore, which means they really ought to go in soon. He doesn’t know if werewolves can get the flu, but he sure can.

“She talks about helping these people get their history back, about how it's important that humans acknowledge that we aren't the only people who belong here. She's doing really important things with her life. Willow things. Why would she be interested in me? I mean, just look at my life.”

Xander hears the boards of the table creak as Oz moves, a moment before he feels warmth against his face. He blinks open his eyes to see Oz pulling back. Pulling back from kissing him again, and eventually Xander may stop being surprised by it. Maybe.

“What was that for?”

“I'm looking at your life.” Oz’s eyes are so bright. “I like it.”

They stay out in the rain too long. The sun goes down early in the winter this far north, and it's starting to get dark by the time Emily comes dragging out from where she has no doubt been pestering Willow with questions about Ethiopia and her dig. Emily takes one look at them holding hands and catches Oz's eye for a long, cool stare. But she doesn't say anything, which from Emily is as good as a lecture, ending with “Don't fuck this up or I'll hurt you.” Xander is a little surprised that she's feeling protective of him, but it's still cute.

“Training?” The question is aimed at Oz, not Xander, so she can't be too worried.

“Have fun,” Xander says wryly as they head off to the basement, with its collections of mats and targets. Emily shrugs a shoulder, more an acknowledgement that she heard him than any statement that this could be fun. Oz gives him a grin as he follows her down the stairs.

Emily stays for dinner. It's unusual that she's here all day, and Xander asks a few leading questions until he finds out that the rest of her family is visiting some relatives in Yakima and she didn't want to go. They won't be back until morning, and Xander understands how empty a house can be at the holidays.

So she stays for dinner, which means they end up eating in the living room instead of the kitchen. Four people are way too many to fit into his nook. He and Emily drag the table out in front of the couch and grab the extra chair from the library, wedging everything into the crowded space in front of the television. It's fun, and involves a lot of laughing and rubbing elbows. The table is still too small for four people and all the food, so they leave the food in the kitchen and traipse back and forth to fill up their plates.

Oz keeps smiling at him, and Xander finds himself smiling back a lot. Which, come to think of it, has been true the whole time Oz has been staying with him. Emily rolls her eyes at them both, and Willow occasionally blinks and pauses, but mostly she laughs along with everyone else.

When it's time for Emily to go, Oz volunteers to walk her home, despite the fact that she's more than capable of making it on her own. Xander isn't sure why, until Emily is waiting on the front porch while Oz grabs his coat. On his way out the door, Oz leans over and brushes a kiss on Xander's cheek and cuts his eyes toward Willow. “Talk.”

And Xander nods before he really thinks about it. But Willow is clearing the table and puttering around in the kitchen, obviously giving them a moment together. So he gives Oz a better kiss, pressing him up against the wall--only a little bit--before Emily knocks impatiently on the screen and Xander has to let him go.

Xander grabs the glasses off the table and brings them into the kitchen where Willow is starting to load the dishwasher. The thing is probably older than both of them, but Xander's been babying it along, hoping he won't have to replace it for another decade or three.

They clean up together quietly for a while. Xander is still trying to figure out how to start the conversation, possibly in a way that actually makes talking happen, when Willow takes a deep breath and turns toward him. The bright yellow kitchen towel dangles softly from her hands. “So, you and Oz...”

“Yeah?” Xander looks up from putting the leftovers away in a plastic container and shoving them in the fridge. “I don't know. I mean, yes. But. I don't know.”

Willow smiles at him, like he's done something cute and somehow made the world a better place at the same time. “Do you trust him?”

Xander straightens up and leans against the fridge. “I... yeah, of course I do.”

“Then you know.” Willow smiles again. “If you can get the table --”

“Sure.” Together, they move the kitchen furniture back where it belongs.

As they're pushing the chairs back behind the table, Willow starts talking again. She doesn't meet his eyes. “I'm kinda jealous. Not in the serious, don't-do-that way. Just. Having someone.”

Xander stops. There's something hurting in her voice, and he hates it. “Will...”

She still isn't looking at him. “No, seriously. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Will, you know...” he trails off.

Willow straightens the kitchen towels where they hang drying over the edge of a drawer. “You never asked me why Kennedy and I broke up.”

Xander comes up behind her, close enough to put his hand on her shoulder, but she's so tense that he doesn't think she wants to be touched. This is one of the things they never talked about, and it circles way too close to a lot of the other things he doesn't want to say. But it's dark, and quiet, and Oz gave them room to say them. “You didn’t want to talk about it.”

Willow spins around to lean against the counter. “Xander! I didn’t want to talk about it _at the time_! It’s been three years. You could've asked.”

Xander steps back a little, making sure he isn't crowding her. But now that she's meeting his eyes, he doesn't want to look away. He needs to see her face for this. “I know she went to join Buffy’s army. And you didn’t.”

Willow stares at him for just a moment, then she shuts her mouth with a click. “I didn’t think you knew.”

“The Watcher’s Council keeps a pretty close eye on them. Giles passes some of it on to me.” Xander shrugs tightly. He wants to be calm and supportive for this, but the old anger is surging up. “One of the benefits of working for the enemy, I guess.”

Willow's eyebrows lower in the glare of doom. “Giles isn’t the enemy!”

“No, but the Watcher’s Council is. At least, according to Buffy.”

Willow frowns at him, but takes a deep breath before she says anything else. “Do you think she’s wrong?”

“Damn it, Will!” Xander wants to walk away. Pace the room, maybe just leave. But his mouth is moving without him again. “She’s training girls to be soldiers. Military-style, do as you’re told and no back-talk soldiers. Honestly, I don’t see a lot of difference between that and the worst of the Council.”

“They don’t have to be under the Council’s control,” Willow snaps back.

“No, they can be under Buffy’s.” It's Xander's turn to take a deep breath. He holds it long enough that the air feels thick by the time he breathes out, but it helps. “I don’t want to fight about it.”

Willow folds her arms around herself. “You brought it up.”

Xander's hand goes out to touch her elbow tentatively, practically of its own volition. He can't stand to see her hurting. “Yeah. I guess I did. I’m sorry.”

Willow nods once, turning her face to stare out the kitchen window. “We didn’t break up over that. Well, not exactly.”

Since she hasn't moved away, Xander strokes her arm a little, trying to ease the tension. “Then why?”

“She got tired of me being gone all the time.” Willow's face cracks into a sad smile. It's old hurt and anger, and it makes Xander hurt just to see it. “I’d just gotten back from three months at Zhoukoudian doing work for my thesis. She met me at the airport. She’d brought flowers. And a ring.”

“Will –”

“I tried. For months, I tried. But I just couldn’t.” Willow glances at him, eyes wide and unseeing. He knows she's going over the past, and blaming herself for it. “I’d get up every morning and think, this is it. I’m trapped here. I got -- I got really mean. It wasn't her fault, but I blamed her. Eventually, I had to leave. I don’t want to do that to anyone else.”

Xander steps forward until he can catch her up in a hug. He wishes he had asked about this before, done something about it earlier. Willow isn't supposed to hurt like this. “You'll find someone, Will. You're a great person. You just need to find someone who'll go with you.”

She looks up at him, gazing deep into his eyes and it feels a little like an electric shock goes through him. Xander knows he'd go if she asked. He would give up Emily, and this thing he’s maybe starting with Oz, everything he has here in Portland, if she'd just ask. Looking into her eyes, he knows she won't ask. She won't ask him to give up what he's built. And for all that he loves her... he won't offer.

“I'm sorry, Will.”

“Me, too.”

Xander means to kiss her forehead, but she looks up at him as he's moving, and he can't. The light from the kitchen fixture is too bright, and it makes the brown of her eyes too deep. He bends his head down just that little bit further and finds her mouth.

It feels completely different from kissing Oz, his brain unhelpfully supplying him with memories to compare it to. Willow is smaller and softer and something tingly like static electricity is starting to run under his skin from everywhere he’s touching her.

He's got his arms wrapped around her, when they break apart, and he doesn't let go. She's shaking a little. Xander leans his forehead against the top of her head when she ducks against his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to --”

“I'm sorry, I --”

Willow stops on a bubble of laughter. It eases something, lets him loosen his arms enough to give her breathing room. Xander catches himself smiling. He isn't really sorry at all.

Willow sighs and shifts backwards, tugging against his arms. “No, I’m sorry. I'm just – being emotional. And getting between you and Oz. Which I’m not going to do any more.” She takes a deep breath, her face firming into decisive lines. “You deserve to be happy.”

Xander reluctantly lets her go, but he doesn't move away. He loves the warmth in her face even when she’s pulling back like this, the softness around her eyes that says she's maybe not entirely happy, but she’s hurting less than she was a moment before. “So do you.”

“Well.” Willow looks behind him, and her eyes get wide. Xander knows his luck, and it feels like his stomach drops out from underneath him. He never wanted to be doing this again --

“You can't get between us.” Oz is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, still in his coat, damp from the rain. But he doesn't look hurt, or angry. Just quiet, maybe. “Not in a bad way, I mean.”

Willow takes a step back, pushing Xander away as if she wanted to deny what just happened. “Oz, I’m sorry, I didn't mean --”

Oz holds up a hand, brow crinkling up in that way he has when he is trying to convince you. “You can't.” He shakes his head once and looks down, like a cue card will magically appear. “Okay, you can, but you'd have to want to. Do you want to?”

Willow shakes her head once, vehemently. “No.”

Oz smiles at her. “See? You're fine.”

Xander has no idea where this is going, but something about the way Oz is standing is keeping him tense as hell. He doesn't think Oz is faking it, that he’s waiting for them to let their guard down before letting loose. But there is something else happening. The three of them are standing as far apart as they can in the tiny kitchen, a little triangle of confusion and guilt and something a little like panic.

“Oz --”

“I said it's fine.” He takes a step forward and reaches out for Xander's hand. Xander's a little too frozen to reach back, and Oz doesn't quite step close enough. Oz is being careful, and it's more frightening than Xander imagined. Oz has to be angry, and Xander doesn't really understand why he isn't acting it.

“No, I need to apologize --”

“All right.”

Willow takes a half-step toward the door. “I'll just --”

“Wait. Please.” Oz has her hand, and it makes something in Xander's stomach tighten even more to see it. Willow looks nervous, and confused, and a little bit less tense now that she's touching someone and it's okay. Xander wishes he could do the same, but he can't take that last step forward.

“I made up the bed in your room,” Oz tells her.

Xander realizes that he hadn't done that; that he'd kind of forgotten about the messed-up sleeping arrangements. That's what kissing does for you, along with making you completely insane.

Willow looks at Oz askance. “Thanks,” she says doubtfully, waiting for the rest of the tangent to arrive.

Oz holds her eyes and nods. “You don't have to use it.”

Xander shakes his head, and he doesn't even know why. “I... okay, I have to go with really fucking confused, here.”

Oz steps close enough that he can take Xander's hand with his free one. All holding hands now, or at least they would be if Xander takes Willow's hand. “You know what I mean.”

Xander doesn't want to know. Somewhere inside, he knows, and he wants it so much that his heart would just burst if he thought about it. So he doesn't. Think about it.

“No.” He's backing away before he even realizes he's doing it. He bumps against the fridge door and bounces off the cabinet on his way to the back door. “Just, no.”

“Xander --” Oz is frowning, and maybe scared, and that's too much for Xander to deal with right now. Xander's hand scrabbles for the latch on the back door, and he pushes away and into the night.

Xander makes it halfway around the block before he remembers that wandering around in the dark without a stake is a bad idea, even in a “safe” town like Portland. The thought can't stop him from heading for the corner gas station and 24-hour mart. It isn’t until he pushes inside that he realizes he doesn’t have a coat, either, and he ends up staring at the souvenir rain jackets near the postcards and the slushie machine.

He can’t make his brain work. Too much, too fast. Too much kissing, too much everything he's ever wanted, and Xander knows deep in his bones that he can't have what he wants.

Families fall apart. That's what they do, whether it's drink or doubt or just people changing their minds. Once, he thought he and Anya could make it through anything. But of course, they didn’t. Hell, he used to think he’d die fighting next to Buffy at some apocalypse or another. But even that family split up, Buffy and Giles on opposite sides, and Xander stranded somewhere between them. Everyone leaves. If they don’t, he does, and it’s ironic that that is exactly what Willow’s afraid of too.

It isn't a lesson he wants to teach to Emily. He can stay, until she can leave him first. But he can't just take what he wants here and make her watch it fall apart.

He's okay with Oz staying. He's okay with Willow staying. He's even okay with the two of them staying together. He can just let it all coast until it falls apart, as long as he doesn't believe in it. Not when they're going to leave.

He buys one of the jackets so he doesn’t have to go home, then heads back out. He passes people on the street, head down and walking too fast. In any other city, they'd leave him alone. In Portland, they wave and wish him “Happy holidays!” when he glances up automatically at the movement in the corner of his vision.

Xander finds himself walking back down to Peacock Lane. The lights go until New Year’s. Most of the houses turn their lights off at eleven, but a few die-hards leave them on all night long. Even the dark houses have the frameworks of reindeer and grinches standing in the yards, waiting for sundown tomorrow and another night of holiday joy.

Xander remembers the last time he took Willow to see them. Walking along the sidewalk, he has flashes of Emily, Willow, Oz, all on the same street at different times. There is probably some metaphor there about them all being with him, but not really together. Not really a family. He walks up and down the street until the fear quiets itself down enough that he thinks he can face the people, at least.

But the house is dark by the time he gets there. The library door is open enough that he can see that Oz took the cot, which makes one of his choices easier. His own room is familiar enough in the dark that he can find his way to the bed without stumbling. The pillow doesn't smell like Oz at all, or Willow, and Xander curses himself for wishing that it did.

It takes way too long to get to sleep, and he sleeps late the next morning. The room is bright with the thin sun of winter. The rain is taking a break, which makes it colder than usual as he stumbles bleary-eyed into the kitchen. He struggles with the coffee pot for a few minutes before the beautiful aroma starts to spill out.

Willow comes in as he is sitting down at the kitchen table. She looks nervous as she pulls out the chair across from him. “I'm sorry. About last night.”

“You don't have anything to be sorry about.”

“I don't know. My first night here, I make Oz run away. Last night, it was you.” Willow makes a face. “You shouldn't have to run away from your own house. It's not right.”

“It's not your fault.” Xander takes a swig of his coffee. “I was just --”

Willow waits for him to fill in the word, but nothing comes to mind. “Freaked?”

Xander nods. “Yeah. Freaked.”

Willow folds her hands around her mug. “Are you still? Freaked?”

Xander pastes a smile on his face. “Nope,” he lies. “Confused, yes. Freaked, no.”

“Okay.” Willow looks down into her coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Because I've been thinking...”

“Hm?”

Willow flicks a glance up to him briefly before looking away. “I don't want you to think -- I mean, I was already thinking -- I mean, I already asked them --”

Xander stifles a laugh at the way her words tumble over themselves. “Asked who what?” he prods.

“The Costas, in Seattle.” Willow pauses. “They're digging on Bainbridge Island this year. Well, next year, I guess. And they could use another hand.”

Xander's breath catches in his throat. “Seattle?”

Willow shrugs defensively. “The X’nogreth demons were really big in the northwest in the 1200's. It's not like there's nothing to do, or anything.”

“I didn't mean that. I. Just. Seattle?” Xander sinks into a chair.

“I thought... I thought I could visit more if I was closer. If you want me to. If you don't want me to--”

“Willow!” Xander reaches over to take her hand. “You can visit any time. You know that.”

“Actually. I didn't know that.” Willow looks down at their hands, then back up at him. Her smile is cautiously hopeful. “But now I know that.”

Xander shakes his head. “How could you think I'd turn you away?”

“Well, you have this whole life here,” she says. “You're busy with Emily. Saving the world, and all that. And I'm just--”

“You're Willow.”

Willow throws him a frustrated look. “I hate it when you say that. Like I'm some kind of different species, or something you can't touch. I'm right here.”

Xander's fingers curl tighter around hers. “You know I don't mean it like that.”

“Don't you?” Willow squeezes his hand. “Oz says you love me.”

“Um.” Xander tries to tug his hand away, but she hangs on, looking at him. “Will, you're my best friend.” He knows his tone is pleading, but her jaw sets stubbornly.

She holds his eyes, and he can't look away. “I love you, too.”

The words take a long time to reach his brain, which stutters and whirs like a broken machine. “Oh.”

Willow sighs and lets go of his hand. Xander is still catching up, and he's too slow to hang on before she's pushing back in her chair. “I wasn't going to say it. You know how bad my track record is with these things. I. I don't want to lose you, too.”

“You can't.” The words tumble out before he can catch them, either. Xander takes a deep breath, then another, but he can't make his heart slow down. “You can't.”

Willow takes his hand again and holds it really tight. “So I thought I might... try. If you'd like me to.”

Xander looks down at their hands, the way her fingers are pale with tension. He can't say no to her. More than that. He doesn't want to. “Yeah.”

Willow lets out a nervous laugh, and sits back down at the table. “Okay then.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she echoes, then takes a deep breath of her own. “What about Oz?”

Xander shrugs, though it hurts. “I don't. I don't want to hurt him.”

“Then talk to him.”

Xander shakes his head, confused. “Will --”

“I'm not going to be here all the time,” she says. “Not for a while. And maybe -- maybe not ever, if I can't --”

“Will --”

“-- no, don't. It's not about me right now.” She pushes her hair back off her face. “You deserve to be happy.”

“I'm not going to --”

“Why not?”

Xander shakes his head again. “I don't know. I don't even know _how_.”

Something eases in her face. “Then talk to him.”

“I can't --”

“He won't ask you to. If you can't. That's Oz.” Willow tilts her head. “But you should talk to him anyway.”

And Xander nods. He has no idea what to say, but if Willow thinks he should, then -- “Okay.”

Xander doesn't really want to talk to Oz, and for once, the universe provides. Emily comes in with an amulet she took off a demon talking about taking over the city. Maybe the demon was a raving lunatic, but then again, it just might mean something big is happening in his rinky-dink town. It sends all of them scurrying for the books to find out what it is.

Xander knows he's confusing Emily, with Willow sitting next to him and holding hands today instead of Oz. It is confusing him, too, since Oz is smiling at all of them and seems happy as a clam about it. Or not, since clams never do seem happy, and somehow a were-clam seems pretty damned unlikely.

Xander finally remembers where he saw something vaguely like the image on the amulet before, and they find the reference in the library. They end up heading off to the local extinct volcano that some demons apparently want to make erupt by freeing a sleeping lava spirit. Stopping them takes less time than the research and ends with the four of them covered in mud and the bad guys stopped before the ground has a chance to shake. All in all, it's a pretty pathetic attempt at ruining the holidays, something Emily takes great joy in telling the demons as they flee.

As they are walking back out of Mount Tabor park, Xander looks around at the four of them. They are dripping with mud, and laughing as Emily, for once forgetting to be dour, is dodging and ducking as she replays the best bits of the night. Oz plays along, and the two of them pantomime the fight, in between bouts of laughter. The streetlamps glint off Willow's hair. Xander realizes this _is_ his family, whether he wants to claim it or not. Pretending it isn’t his won’t make it last any longer.

Considering Oz, pretending will probably make it go away even faster. Oz has already gotten out of the way for him and Willow. It wouldn't take much to convince him that he should just take himself off somewhere. And Xander really doesn't want Oz to leave.

“Who's for ice cream?” Willow asks, even though it's freezing and they're all filthy.

Emily rolls her eyes but doesn't protest, which is as close to a plea for ice cream as she's likely to get.

Xander drops back a little, until he's walking beside Oz, who glances over at him with a little smile.

Xander takes a deep breath. “You never said when you're leaving.”

Oz shrugs, eyes darting briefly to Xander’s face. It's obvious that he is trying to be calm, but his tension shows. “No. I didn't.”

Xander almost laughs. This doesn't have to be hard. “You don't have to.”

Oz stops walking, and turns to him. “I don't?” he asks, voice careful and hopeful all at once.

Xander reaches for his hands, and runs his thumb over a stripe of dried mud. “Nope. In fact, I'd like it if you didn't.”

A grin breaks out across Oz's face. “Okay.”

“Okay? That's it?” Xander lets the laugh out. “I ask you to move in with me, and that's it?”

A quick glance around makes him realize that the whole group has stopped dead on the sidewalk.

“You need more?” Oz asks, then leans forward and kisses him. Oz is laughing, too, warm quivers Xander can feel under his fingers when he wraps his arms around Oz’s waist. He’s getting new mud on his jacket, and Oz’s hands are cold on his face, and he doesn’t care at all.

When Xander gets his breath back, Willow is laughing at them. Emily looks thoroughly nonplussed.

“I thought you two --” she says, looking at Willow, but the words peter out.

Willow gets a small smile. “Maybe.”

Emily's brow furrows, but she goes on, determined. “And those two?”

Oz's smile mirrors Willow's. “Maybe.”

It makes Xander laugh, and nod when she finally looks at him.

Emily frowns again, then wrinkles her nose at them. “Whatever. I'm not buying the ice cream.”

Xander isn't really sure what he's starting. Willow will go north to Seattle and trek down to visit. He and Oz will work out something about living together more than they have been. He'll screw it up, and they'll get over it. And maybe it won't last.

But in the meantime, he's got the family he always wanted. For as long as he can keep them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the vast and glorious power of christmas lights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/562392) by [Teaotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter)




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